You were off my radar when you were a wild child. I didn’t know that bit of you. But recently, after your spirited defence of attachment parenting, I found you on IG. We exchanged a word or two. I smiled at your pictures, of the love and fierce joy that shined out of them as you brought up your boys, the adoration in your voice. I let myself have a fond moment at seeing you carve, unexpectedly perhaps, such a natural, mature and positive path of parenting and marriage out for yourself.
You were a joy to watch. I hope you knew that. I hope you counted the likes and comments and felt the admiration and affection people had for you. I hope you knew that mothers of all shapes and sizes applauded you for speaking up and parenting your way. Good on you.
I have no idea what happened today, not the what or why or how. It doesn’t matter to anyone outside anyway. You’ve gone and that what matters. But I do know that in the midst of reliving our own darkest days of loss, I’m thinking of your dad and sisters who have to walk that path again and your boys and husband are starting the worst of journeys. I will guard them in my heart, every April. I will add another date to our string of dark April days and hold them there; I’ll hope they feel that care.
The worst of grief is that you can never quite escape it. The words of your devastated family have burned the scars of our own loss and I ache for them and for all they should have had of you and all you should have had of them.
From the outside, looking in, you made me smile and gave me hope for the mothers of the future. I hoped the young girls of today would follow in your confident footsteps.
Fly high, lovely girl. You will be missed, by the people with a hole blown through their souls and even by the people who just shared a photo a day with you.